Constantine Vendetta
by TravelingThroughTime
Summary: A young artist falls for Balthazar who has nasty plans, Angela's on a mission, Gabriel's plotting and John's...babysitting? More hell unfolds as the exorcist deals with old foes, falling in love and a pesky kid and troublesome cat. What lies ahead?


**Summary: **A young artist falls for the wrong half-breed. Meanwhile, Angela is on a dangerous mission to destroy The Spear Of Destiny, and with all of these events unfolding, John gets stuck...babysitting? What's an exorcist to do? Sequel to movie and prequel to The City Screams (my other Constantine fic).

**Rating: **T for mature thematic elements, violence, angst, attempted rape, language and sexual situations.

**Pairings: **John/Angela Balthazar/Zed (Zed from Hellblazer with my own twist on her)

**Disclaimer: **Nothing's mine and I claim no characters except Roach and Amanda and whatever else I invent.

* * *

**Constantine Vendetta**

Chapter I: Funerals And Departures

The corridor whispered the echoes of her strides, as if her footsteps belonged to it alone. To be here, back in this place, in a way, befuddled her with trepidation. A small involuntary trembling seized through her, reminding her of why she was here, reminding her why she needed this place, this cathedral church of the Catholic religion that had nearly denied Isabel. But with all said and done, with all in order, it was well again. With John's assistance, the Bishop had granted Isabel a Catholic Funeral, and it was all done with the forceful button pushing John had laid on Gabriel, who had discovered that he had not the bravery to drown himself after all. The ex-archangel discovered that Constantine had one final good use for him, and Gabriel dared not to refuse.

The place was not crowded. Why should it be? The Dodson sisters had too few friends and the only living family was an estranged, elderly aunt and a few cousins. Their parents had both passed away; but along an empty row sat one face that Angela knew, a face that spoke 'friend' when he suddenly glanced her way. She smiled at him, wanting to wail up in her moment of jubilance. How happy was she to see that he had come, that he cared enough to be here for her. His presence made her feel a peace that she so desperately needed.

She squeezed into the row, slowly taking her seat beside him. Her black dress tugged beneath her as she pressed her thighs against the wood.

He wasn't looking at her now, but her eyes were searching him, then she turned away, swallowed and looked on to the casket laid out for all to see.

"Shouldn't you be sitting closer to the front?" she heard him utter.

"Why?"

"Figured you'd want to be closer to it all."

She hesitated, never glancing him again.

"I'm close enough." she stated, finally.

Some silence cut between the two as they waited for the man clad in white to begin his prayer.

"Thanks for coming." he heard her whisper.

"I owed you." he said; but she ignored the sarcastic tone, or at least she tried. Then he wished he hadn't replied in such a ill-mannered way. It was a bad time to be _himself_.

Angela knew why John was so bitter though. It was Chas, and Hennessey and the funerals held for them and the funeral that was yet to be held for Beeman. But Chas Kramer's funeral was the one that both Angela and John would remember most, other than the fact that Chas was, apparently, the one John missed more than anyone to his own surprise.

~TTT~

The old church was not silent with the clamor of relatives, friends and neighbors with their grieving, whispering, pitying and praying. All of them stared John coldly when he passed them by. He only wanted a final look into the boy's dead-cold face before taking his leave in the place of which he was resented. Then, in the shallow corner of his eye stood Chas' grieving mother.

"Hello Constantine," her voice was broken between tears and bitterness.

He didn't glance her, he only stood and stared into the grim sight of a soulless being with hands crossed over it's chest and it's body cloaked in white.

"Amanda." he uttered.

"It's a shame isn't it?" she talked over him. "That a mother should outlive her child. Twenty years old. Only twenty years old, but still my baby."

With some silence following her words, he thought it right to speak now.

"Amanda, I -" he turned towards her, only to be over spoken again.

"He was everything I had. The only thing I had and now I'm having to see him buried." she seemed to be throwing her words at him like tiny, piercing daggers.

"Listen," he tried.

"No, _you_ listen. I know how hard you were on my boy. You hateful, cold, mean, vicious man!" she spat.

To his dismay, John found himself to be shocked by her sharp tongue. She had always been kind, polite and even appreciative that he had been keeping Chas off the streets and away from the potheads before; but now she despised him, hated him and blamed him.

"Ms. Kramer," now Angela had stepped forward. John had nearly forgotten her being here. "John isn't the one to blame for Chas' death. No one is. Now I could easily blame myself for my sister, but could I really prevent Isabel's death? No, I couldn't. We can never fully shield our loved ones from evil and John loved Chas like a kid brother, I know he did." she glanced at John, seeing his eyes glance away and his face turn scornful. She looked back at the sobbing, middle-aged woman, her short blonde hair dim and dull and pushed behind her ears, her blue eyes clouded and swollen. "And I don't know your son as well as either of you did, but if I do know one thing, it's that he wouldn't want you to blame and hate John. They were close. Chas looked up to him, and I know that John cared a great deal about him. He's hurting enough, Ms. Kramer. He doesn't need anyone else to beat him up about it. He's doing enough of that on his own."

Ms. Kramer did not speak again, she instead paced away in an almost robotic fashion, throwing herself into the arms of an elderly woman, perhaps her mother, and crying terribly.

John remained before the casket, staring blankly now into the dead face of his apprentice. He felt a soft, warm hand slip into his and he knew it to be Angela.

"Why did he have to die? It wasn't fucking right." he uttered, talking more to himself.

"It's okay." she whispered, tightening her grip on his cold hand.

Neither of them stayed long after that, nor did they go to see the young boy laid to rest. Instead, they both found themselves sitting silently in that café , the very one they sat in after their first fateful introductory to the other.

Angela ordered no food, she was too grief stricken for John and Chas and for her own self to eat. She sat quietly, only sipping the bland coffee between endless thoughts. The coffee seemed to be more of an escape to her than a drink, a thing for her to drown her eyes into to keep herself from noticing the look on John's face.

There he sat, face tilted toward the plate of waffles and bacon, the cold plate of waffles and bacon. His fork and knife had managed to trace along the surface of the waffle, but it never brought the food to his parted lips, and somehow his eyes seemed lost in that plate and Angela knew that he was not here with her but rather, someplace else.

"_My God_," her mind thought, "_How is he going to get through this? What can I do to comfort him?_"

It looked hopeless at this point, and she was almost frightened to resurrect him, afraid of the reaction she might receive. Would he snap, bite, bark? She didn't know but she tried it anyway. She feared that if she didn't react soon enough, he may become stuck that way forever, staring blankly and dying away at the bar.

Tactfully she touched the top of his hand, the one still gripping the fork. She almost felt him jerk at her touch, and he shot his head up and he looked at her. His eyes were red but no tears escaped. His hand was like an ice surface.

"Maybe it would make you feel better to go." she suggested, referring to the burial.

He waited, thinking of a way to reply, and then he opened his mouth and managed to gather the words.

"I," he glanced away from her, as if her stare was more than he could handle. "I don't want to."

"But shouldn't you go, to see him?"

"I don't want to see the kid buried, G-dammit." he snapped, the waitress stared and Angela pulled her hand away, fitting it back into her lap. Then something seemed to strike John, calming him and making him regret. "Angela, I just don't want to."

"I'm sorry." she said, furrowing her brows and looking away. "I shouldn't have,"

"We'll go at the end of this week."

"We?"

"Yeah. Us. We'll go see his grave. There's something I wanted to put there."

"Okay."

~TTT~

John's previous memory seized, fading from his mind, and he remembered that he was in the Catholic Church now, sitting beside Angela, watching her, and listening to the sermon.

He took a moment to admire her profile, to admire _her_. In some way she seemed stronger than he, not afraid to express herself or show her true feelings to the ones she cared most for. In a way, he resented his own self. He didn't really think that he deserved any compassion or any sympathy from this woman beside him, and then he began to resent _her_ for being so bold as to cast any sympathy or compassion onto him. He hated sympathy or any form of pity. But then he saw a tear roll down from her eye, streaming over her well-formed cheek and coming to a dead stop before reaching her chin. He could hear her gasping, and he knew it was Isabel and the fact that it would never get easier for her. Rekindling kinder emotions, Constantine did manage to take her hand into his. She looked his way, wanting to offer him a look that said 'thank you', but John steadied his eyes back onto the sermon.

The gentle, open-hearted, loving Isabel Dodson, the girl who saw things that she never should've seen, was laid to rest and now Angela was driving home, almost forgetting that Constantine was sitting beside her. The hard chewing of his nicoderm was the only sound that broke the silence in the SUV.

_-Angie, do you see it? Do you see the angel? She's smiling at us._

His chewing stopped and John looked towards her, aroused and concerned by her uttering.

"Angela?" but she ignored him, continuing to talk out loud as she relived past episodes with her sister.

_- No Izzie. I can't see anything._

_-Angie, you don't have to lie anymore. Mom and Dad aren't here. _

_-I don't see anything! _

_-Stop lying!_

_-Shut up! There's nothing there okay? You're crazy!_

_-I thought you were my sister!_

Angela's eyes had wailed up and her voice grew hardened with unbearable grief.

"Why didn't I listen to her? Why did I turn my back on her when she needed me most?!" she bellowed.

"Angela! Angela look out!"

The SUV jerked, skidding slightly as it came to a stop. Only inches laid between the bumper and the back of a red car.

Angela trembled, shutting her eyes tight just for a second and letting a great deal of captive air escape her held breath. She gripped the steering wheel and her hands shook terribly.

"Angela, just try to relax. I know you're hurt but," he was never good at comforting, he knew this. "Just try not to upset yourself."

He studied her startled face, watching as it transformed back into a forced expression of confidence. The light glowed green and the vehicle began to move again. Within an hour's time, they stopped before the _Bowl Bowl Bowl_, Bowling Alley.

John felt reluctance seeping through his mind, and for a while he hesitated to open the door.

"Aren't you getting out?" she asked.

"I don't know." he said simply, "I'm afraid of leaving you alone."

She felt herself musing this, appeased by his concern for her and moved by his fear of letting her alone.

"Don't worry. I won't let my emotions get the better of me again. I'm a cop. We can't afford to do that."

"I hope so." he seemed doubtful. "Well, I'll see you later then."

"Saturday?"

"Yeah. Saturday. And bring _it_. Don't leave it alone."

She heard the door shut and it was then that she managed to watch him disappear into the brick building. He never looked back, but she watched, and for a while just sat there thinking. But at long last she remembered Duck and re-cranked the SUV to journey home to her apartment.

~TTT~

Dawn could not have come a moment sooner. The sensation of a new day was refreshing and empowering. The sun's warm rays flaming through the bedroom window and shining in her face gave comfort, a comfort that felt like Isabel's embrace.

Quickly, she slipped into her clothes, combed her hair and sprayed on a good deal of fragrance, but not so much until it was offensive. Angela was always one who showed good taste when it came to her feminine duties.

_Meow, Meow_…Duck's purrs were comforting as was his brushing against her legs. He was a beautiful little thing of solid gray and big green eyes, so full of emotion. Russian Blue was a breed than ran through his blood, albeit not fully judging by his alley cat features.

"I bet you're ready for some breakfast aren't you?" Angela smiled, leading the way to the kitchen.

_Meow_…

Duck waited anxiously as Angela prepared the tuna. By the opening of the can, it took no time for the strong, fishy odor to hit his fine sense of smell. He welcomed it hungrily.

For this little one, Angela's heart went out. Originally, he was Isabel's baby, her only comfort, a cat she had found in the parking lot of Ravenscar as a sickly kitten. Angela knew how much Duck meant to her. Sometimes in those green eyes of his, it felt as if Isabel was staring back, through him, smiling.

When Angela had brought Duck home from Ravenscar where he had resided in Isabel's room, it became difficult for the young cat to adjust to this new atmosphere, not to mention accept his beloved owner's passing. He knew Angela meant him no harm, and she looked exactly like his owner, speaking kindly and softly to him; but he knew very well that she was not his Isabel.

For the first day or two, Duck hid beneath the bed, refusing food or any form of handling and refusing to cooperate all together. From the moment she had released him from the boundaries of his crate, he had immediately thrust into her bedroom and jolted beneath the bed.

It wasn't until that one night that he heard Angela sobbing terribly in her sleep, that brought him to her side. He purred and pushed his soft head against her arm. It was as if the cat realized that he wasn't the only one missing Isabel; and he wanted Angela to know that he was there to comfort her, that he wanted her to know that they needed each other. Cats are special like that…especially cats like Duck.

Angela had grown to love Duck dearly. She never imagined having the time to obtain a pet of her own, although she had always been fond of animals, but if ever she did, she always imagined something more like a Boston Terrier rather than a feline, but she needed Duck and he her, and she made a promise to Isabel that she would love and care for him always. He was one of her sister's most treasured possessions.

Walking away from the feasting cat and to the desk drawer, she pulled the brass handle of the drawer and there it laid, wrapped tightly in clothe of white; The Spear Of Destiny.

Dodson had not forgotten the assignment that Constantine had laid on her.

"I still need some time off." She had told the chief detective. "I need some vacation time." And so she had been given a month, a month indeed. She had well earned it, and it wasn't until now that she had decided to use it. There couldn't be better timing.

None of them knew however that it wasn't just more grieving time that Angela needed. In her hands was one of the greatest burdens of the world, a burden that made her feel like the hobbit in that great fantasy novel.

Everything seemed to be in order. She had stayed up late last night packing and planning, but there was just one problem…and he went by Duck.

Who would Angela leave him with? Who could she possibly trust? She couldn't take him with her. Duck was no traveler. More than likely it would stress him.

"I guess I could leave you at a kennel." she thought. "Oh Isabel would never do a thing like that; you're too sensitive." she sighed.

Then an idea thrust into her worried mind, giving a bit of relief, though, there was a better chance that he would refuse judging by his prone-to-indolence nature.

"If he's going to assign me to getting rid of the spear, then the least he can do is check in on you of a day."

_Meow?_

The thought of asking John to baby sit a cat was dreadful, but he seemed to be the only person she really knew well enough to trust.

"He _was_ pretty gentle with you, and it couldn't possibly be in John's nature to abuse or neglect a living thing; certainly not if he wants to stay in God's good graces, right? If he does though, I'll kill him." she smirked, rubbing Duck's ears as he studied her curiously.

In her leave, she grabbed her purse, carefully stuffed the spear inside, told Duck she would return soon and left.

She girt herself in the seat belt, cranked the SUV and before long she reached her destination. She took a moment however to sit quietly in the car, secretly contemplating her plan, all of her plans. With a final sigh, she unleashed herself from the comfort of the vehicle and headed into the bowling alley.

She clung tightly to the purse, pressing it hard against her hip as she trailed down the quiet alley where no heavy balls tumbled and rolled and only two strangers mingled near an empty table, keeping to themselves as she walked by and headed for the stairs that led to the apartment floors.

She found herself standing now before that old wooden door. Slowly, she began to knock against the wood; but these knocks were useless as no one responded.

"John? John?" she sighed. "John, are you in there?"

No answer.

"John, it's Angela. Open the door."

Still, no answer. Angela was growing impatient. She was growing angry. He had been expecting her, or so she thought, or had this man led her to believe incorrectly? It was Saturday, wasn't it?

After eight more useless knocks, she turned her back on the door, planning to stomp away as she grumbled beneath her breath.

"Jerk. I know he hears me."

"Jerk?" the gruff voice brought her eyes upon a man standing quietly at the top of the stairwell. In his hand was a fine looking six pack.

"How long have you been standing there, John?" she demanded, un-amused.

"Long enough to be reminded that I'm a jerk." he replied sarcastically with little thought. He pushed past her, as if he cared not for her company, brought the key from his pocket and opened the door.

Angela gave another sigh, attempting to relieve herself of the flame boiling inside, and followed the exorcist into the dwelling.

"You came earlier than I expected." he said carelessly, setting the six pack on the table and throwing his keys beside it. "What do ya want?"

Angela despised the way he carried himself in that attitude, making her feel as if she was 'in his way'.

"I have a favor I need to ask of you." she said, crossing her arms.

"What?" he sounded annoyed.

"It's important, John." she tried to tell him.

"You gonna tell me or not?" he leaned himself against the table, crossing his arms and relaxing his glare on her.

"It's going to be a big favor, and I want you to know that I _am_ willing to pay you a good deal to do it."

"For doing what, Angela?" he demanded.

She took a breath, and then she spoke,

"I need you to take care of Duck when I leave."

"Duck?"

"The cat, John. I can't take him with me, and if I'm going to carry out the 'mission' I'll need someone to care for him while I'm away, someone I can trust."

Trust. Surely that title alone would convince him…she hoped.

"Am I supposed to be honored that you trust me enough to take care of a cat?"

"_John, you damn…_" she thought, biting her lip and holding her tongue. "There's no one else I know that can do it." she rolled her eyes.

"Why do _I_ have to be the one to be responsible for a cat? Can't you leave him at a kennel? I'm sure with a job like your's you can afford one of those really nice ones."

"That's not the point here. Duck is a sensitive cat. Like myself, he's been through enough losing Isabel. I can't just throw him in a strange place for who knows how long and expect him to thrive. He's just now gotten use to _my_ place."

"It's a cat." he reminded her.

"In case you didn't know John, cats are living breathing things that have feelings and emotions. They aren't mindless."

"He can't stay here."

"I wouldn't want him to stay in _this place_."

John frowned at her.

"I just need you to stop by on a day to day basis and check in on him. It won't be difficult. I'll leave the instructions on the table."

"It's not difficult but yet you have to leave instructions?"

"John, please."

"It's too much of an inconvenience. I'm not a pet-sitter. I can't just go out of my way every single day to check up on a cat. I don't even have a car."

"Can't you take a bus, or a cab? What about the subway? I'll pay for it all."

"It's too much to ask." John left his position at the table's edge, looking away from the desperation in her face. He hated the way she looked at him when she was needy. It made him feel vulnerable to her. "_There's that same fucking look you had when you needed my help with your sister's murder. G- dammit, Angela, quit looking at me like that._"he thought.

He leaned himself against the kitchen counters near the old stove, studying the surface and then turning his glare back towards her.

"Are you sure you don't have any neighbors or friends that can look after him?" he asked her.

She looked into him, a small pint of hope settled within. She knew that tone in his voice, that tone of agreeing.

"I'm sure." she said. "That's why I'm asking _you_. I just want him to be taken care of while I'm gone. He means a lot to me, John."

"Well," John spun around, pressing his lower back against the counter. "I guess I should feel honored that you like me enough to take care of your cat."

She smiled, and he almost did himself just seeing the expression painted on her. She was pretty when she smiled. She was always pretty.

"He knows you." she went on.

"Does he?"

"Well, your face anyway."

"Are you sure the fur ball won't scurry when he sees me? If cats are as smart as you seem to think, I'm sure he still remembers what I used him for."

"He'll forgive you. Duck's pretty easy-going."

"I'll do it." he gave her.

"John, this means a lot."

"Hold it. How much am I getting paid?"

"Oh," she paused. "Is three hundred dollars fair enough?"

John glanced at his shirt.

"Hmm…I guess three hundred dollars could buy me another shirt." he mused, fingering at the fabric. "And maybe another tie. Or maybe a new pair of shoes."

"I can pay you more." she assured him.

He looked up at her again, giving her a faint but warm grin.

"Three hundred's fine."

She was glad.

Silence filled the room as they stared into each other for a moment's time. To Angela, this moment was starting to feel like an unbearable hour. The way he stared at her made her feel like a bashful high school girl at a prom, hoping that the nice looking guy would come up and ask her to dance and that she wouldn't regurgitate from anxiety, or feel stupid for crushing on the recluse bad-boy. It was as if he was sizing her up. She looked at the door, no longer finding the courage to stare back into him.

"Well I should go." Her words and her sudden movement towards the exit broke his stare.

"Go on then." he said, as if offended by her desire to leave.

"Oh," she paused, awkwardly turning back to face him. "Do you want me to give you the key to my apartment now?"

"Didn't you want to go with me to see Chas' grave?" he reminded her.

"Oh my gosh!" Angela slapped her palm against her forehead. "I'm sorry. I've got so much on my mind I forgot."

When she reopened her eyes, she found that he had moved closer to her. It didn't take long for him to be so close until the tip of their shoes were touching. She looked up at him, he was much taller than she with his unruly black hair and dark eyes and his outstanding masculine features. She couldn't help but wonder how someone so rude and negetive could be so attractive, even if the question was stupid since looks weren't everything that made up a man, or a woman for that matter.

"You can give me the keys later." he told her.

"I have a spare."

"Save it for when you leave. By the way, when do you plan on leaving?"

"I thought I'd leave tomorrow. Early."

"Sounds reasonable. I thought that tonight we could visit the graveyard."

"Why tonight?" she asked.

"I have some things I need to take care of right now."

"Like what, John?"

"Just some errands. Nothing important."

"Would you like to have lunch?" she dared to ask, though the question rolled out of her accidentally.

"Maybe another time." he said. "You should be making preparations."

"Right. So uh…I'll see you tonight?"

"Tonight."

She gripped the handle of his door, cracking it open but giving him one final glance. With that momentary look, he received from her a comforting smile, and with that she left him.

Twenty minutes soared by, though he didn't notice. He stood long, right there, thinking and pondering over so many things. Then, time reached it's limit as to how long he could remain and he hasted for the door, and out in the empty hall he was. Taking his steps carefully, he wandered to an apartment down the hall where he knocked, and knocked, and knocked.

No one answered him. No one came to the door to greet him. Curiosity came over him, and to his discovery, the door was unlocked.

Inside, the place was empty. Had he known of the evacuation? No, not at all. The resident of this cold place was gone and all that was left behind was one book, a familiar leather bound book sitting prettily in the room's center, alone and forgotten.

The exorcist knelt down, taking the book up into his hands with grace.

"Chas' book…" he uttered. "The history of paranormal." he shook his head, recalling how bent the boy always was on such things. He was smart no doubt, and he knew pretty much anything one could know.

With the opening of the first page, there, tucked within the boundaries of leather was a note addressed to him. John rendered the words, listening to them carefully as they sung through his mind.

_Dear John,_

_I need to be loud and clear. I will not lie that I have some resentment of my son's death, but I know that blaming you will not give me assurance. I want you to know that despite anything I've said, I know his death was not at your hands. I believe in my heart, that like myself, you would've gladly taken Chas' place._

_I'll never know for sure what went on in that hospital, all I'll ever know is the pain I felt when I found out my boy wasn't coming home, when you brought me his hat. I didn't speak in that moment, I only snatched it away, slamming the door in your face and huddling in the corner, rocking myself back and forth and humming the sweet tune of death. With all that's happened, I've decided that leaving this place will do me only the most good. There's been too much death these last days, losing my Chas, Beeman being found dead, and then there's Hennessey. Forgive me John for all that I said, for all the wretched things I accused you of. And to close, I want to thank you for loving Chas, for being the man in his life that he needed. This book was his, the one you up and bought him for his twentieth birthday. I know you never said it was from you, but who else would buy such a book for an apprentice? Keep it John. Keep a little piece of Chas._

_With all my gratitude,_

_Amanda._

Now he was sitting alone, beside only himself at the café down the street from the bowling alley, thinking of the letter, Amanda's heartfelt words and his lonely walk here. This was one place that he and Chas frequented and being here brought back some damn good memories, though at the time, John took the moments for granted. They use to sit here, one right across from the other in the booth, discussing John's exorcisms, Chas with his annoying questions...

~TTT~

"So, what good does the holy water do, I mean really?" Chas would ask, his mouth full of hamburger.

"Holy water? Does a lot of good. They can't stand it."

And then there was Bette, their favorite waitress.

"You's boys wanna little more coffee?" she would smile.

"Uh.." Chas would stutter, mesmerized by her. "Yeah. Yeah, we'd like some more coffee. We'd like some more coffee, wouldn't we John? Bring us some more coffee Bets."

Then John would give him that dirty look; and when Bette would walk off, John would say,

"Of course we want more coffee. It brings _her_ back to the table, doesn't it?"

Then their eyes would stare at her nice ass until it vanished behind the safety of the bar.

"I think I'm gonna ask her out." Chas said, slicking his hair and checking his breath as Bette was getting ready to return with the coffee pitcher.

"She's out of your league, _kid_." John reminded him, rudely.

"Oh, I get it John. Can't take a little competition. Can't stand the thought of a younger man getting something that you want. What? You think she's more interested in looking your way?"

"Why wouldn't she?" John smarted.

Bette was damn good looking with her short, thick, wavy red locks, her sharp yet smooth features, her thick, rose lips and her slender nose, those big green-hazed eyes and a smile that brought pleasure to any man, not to mention her nice rack. Her fair skin and the light freckles on her cheeks that were clouded beneath makeup gave character to her charm. She was like a nineteen forties starlet with a modern flare. She even spelled her name like _Bette Davis_, said so right there on her name tag, though, if not for those eye catching breasts, neither John nor Chas would've ever noticed.

~TTT~

"John? John." her bouncy, New York accent always grabbed his attention. "Hey, you's wanna order somthin'?"

"Oh." John looked dumb, he was so buried in the memories of Chas and Bette's good looks until he had forgotten where he was.

Bette searched the table, wondering why on earth Chas wasn't here today.

"Hey, where's Brooklyn Boy?" she asked. It was a pet name she had for him.

There it was, the mention of Chas. Why the hell did she have to notice?

John pushed himself out of the booth, and brushed past her.

"Hey, where ya goin'?"

"I have somewhere I need to be." he fibbed.

She snatched his hand, stopping him in his tracks. Being the outgoing socialite she was here at the café, Bette was honestly one that couldn't stand for anyone to keep secrets or hide their feelings from her, let alone give anyone the chance to try. Amazingly, she even squeezed enough out of John to get the hard-hitting news that Chas was indeed,

"Bette, Chas was killed in a bad accident." The words were painful, making his tongue and throat ache with sorrow.

Silence overtook them, her face became startled and there was a swift shiver that filled the restaurant.

"Oh my God." she gasped. "John I- I'm so sorry."

"I have to go." he said, pulling away and doubting to himself that he would ever have the courage to patronize Chas' favorite eatery again. He tried, but he failed. The grief was still too much.

When night at last swept over the city, John and Angela arrived at the cemetery as planned.

Angela stood some feet away, watching John as he stood over Chas Kramer's grave. She saw him pull something from his coat, something shiny, and beginning to lay it on the top plane of the tomb stone.

John paused, holding the lighter in midair, and he uttered,

"You did good, kid." He sat the lighter down, letting go of two things at once as he did; a fine young man and a nasty habit that nearly claimed his life.

It lay silently against the stone, the golden lighter with it's fine, unique detailing. It was merely a cover that held each disposable flicker. So many times had that thing been used to light the cigarettes that smoked his lungs.

John turned and began the slow waltz away from the grave. Now his eyes were back on Angela, who, in the midst of dark, was transfixed on something behind him. She had been looking down before, with her fingers curled against her lips, but now she seemed excited, hopeful maybe.

John stopped, furrowing his brows and glancing over his shoulder in wonder as to what the detective had caught sight of.

It was Chas, perched gracefully upon his own grave with eyes of gold, wings of feathered black, clad in white with a smile more divine than the glow in his eyes. With a final look into the exorcist, Chas took to the air, leaping high and slowly fading out of sight into the stars. John turned back, almost smiling, and feeling a great deal of reassurance.

Angela stood, still smiling with her eyes fixated on the sky, her fingers clinging to her jeans and her black hoodie warming her upper body. John reached into his pockets, searching and finding a wrapper of nicoderm. As he slipped the blue substance into his mouth, Angela threw him one of her warm smiles, but he looked away, continuing his chewing and his thinking. Seeing Chas had to be the greatest gift of all. How generous it was for a half-breed angel to wait, to give his friend reassurance before taking his leave to God's Kingdom. It was the medicine John needed for a heavy heart.

Now standing near the SUV, with it's headlights shining against the graves, after the beautiful sight they had both witnessed, Angela took a moment to give John her key.

"Here's the key to my apartment. I'll have a list there of what you can do. Just make sure he has clean food and water and -"

"I know." he cut in, gently. "I'll see to it that he stays fed."

"And…spoiled?" she hoped.

"What?"

"John, you can at least be nice to him, can't you? You can at least pet and talk to him."

"I'm not very hands-on with animals." he said, giving her a look.

"Just let him know that you're not there to hurt him. You know how to be nice."

"I do, do I?"

"Sometimes." she smirked.

"Hold it." he clutched her arm, keeping her from jolting into the vehicle. "One more thing."

"What?" she asked, nervous. He stared into her hazel eyes something terrible and it made her tremble in the night.

"Just…" he brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "Be careful."

"I will." she smiled, taking her time to reply. She wanted to take him in, and she wanted to breath him, maybe kiss him. She had already missed that chance on the rooftop.

"Don't let anyone have the chance to know where you're going…wherever it is you plan to go. Make sure it stays a secret."

With that said, and with that kind of sincerity, it was no surprise that their lips came close, almost close enough to touch; but she turned away, though she didn't know why, and she pulled herself into the SUV, and John joined her. She took him home, and on the way they were hidden from each other with their thoughts on Chas.

To Be Continued…

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**A/N:** I'm having writers block with _TCS_ so I thought I'd do a first chapter for this. However, don't expect it to be updated until _TCS _is complete, I may upload chapter two before then but that'll be all. For anyone that enjoys Constantine fanart, I'm hoping to post some on my webpage. I have one of Angela so far. Visit my profile for the link, go to my homepage and check it often.


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